


Color

by starryeyedboxes



Category: Septiplier - Fandom
Genre: M/M, septicplier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedboxes/pseuds/starryeyedboxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: “It’s raining and you forgot your umbrella so come over and stand under mine while we wait for the bus”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red

Jack sat at the bus stop, completely discarding the notion that he would get to avoid the rain at all today. It was terribly gloomy outside and the roll of thunder was prominent, but the young Irishman forgot his umbrella at home so he was stuck sitting on the lonely bench as the heavy water seemed to abuse his shivering body.

All he could really hope for was the bus coming into view much earlier than he anticipated.

Wrapping his red fingers around his arms, he began to rub up and down, desperately trying to stay warm in any way possible. He peered out from under his grey cap and looked around, amazed at how empty the streets were. It was obviously because of the rain. Jack quickly cursed himself for not doing the same by staying indoors. He just had to get some food instead of ordering from home.

“Whoa,” a husky voice called from behind Jack, causing him to turn his head around sharply.

When he focused his vision through the rain, he saw a man with raven-black hair and gorgeous brown eyes hurrying towards him. The Irishman looked around him again. Was there anyone else here? Why was this stranger approaching him?

“Me?” He held up his numb index finger towards his face while quirking an eyebrow.

The man finally made it over and hung a lovely crimson umbrella over the two of them as he took a seat on the wet bench. He tilted it just at the perfect angle so the slanted drops wouldn’t soak them any further.

“What are you doing out here with no umbrella?” The man with the American accent unwrapped a thick red scarf from around his neck and cloaked it around the Irishman’s, his breath forming white clouds in between them. “It’s freezing!”

Jack’s fingers found their way up to the fabric wrapped around him and while it was slightly damp, it was warm. He looked down, the scarf draping around his body ever so softly. His fingertips caressed the delicate material, incredibly shocked at the generosity of a complete stranger. The young man’s blue eyes looked over it thoughtfully, his voice slightly caught in his dry throat.

“Man,” the stranger continued as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. “The rain just won’t let up today, huh?”

Looking up at the beautiful American beside him, Jack’s eyes wandered his face, examining everything in sight. He traced the strong cheekbones to the way his glasses sat on his face lightly, and even to the beautiful small dark brown spots that appeared on his chin. That raven black hair flopped around due to the wind, and when his brown eyes met the Irishman’s, Jack felt his face flush slightly. It almost felt like he had been caught doing something naughty.

“You feeling a little warmer now?” He asked, a radiant smile appearing on his defined face. Jack quickly nodded, his voice still caught up. “I saw you just sitting here in the rain. You must be freezing!”

“Sort of,” the drenched man finally managed to mutter, even though it was barely heard over a clap of thunder that surrounded him. He jumped, quickly caught off guard by the loud noise and turned away from the stranger when he heard a humored laugh escape soft lips.

“You scared of the weather or something?”

“No,” he responded carefully. “I hate the rain, though. But I’m not scared.”

Jack felt the man’s gaze heavy on him so he refused to look back and pulled the red scarf over his mouth as he buried his numb nose into the soft fabric in a feeble attempt to warm his face up. When he breathed in, a lovely scent of what Jack assumed was the stranger’s natural aroma filled his lungs and he almost let out a comfortable sigh. It was a wonderful smell and for some reason, it made his body feel much more relaxed than what it was feeling like just moments ago. The tension quickly evaporated as he sunk into the cheerful feeling, his eyes half-lidded.

“Well,” the stranger continued, twisting the umbrella slightly to watch some of the extra drops fly across their field of vision. “What are you doing out at this time? Normally everyone stays inside.”

Still a little dazed from the generous scarf laced around his neck, the Irishman pulled it back down from his mouth so he could speak again. “I really wanted food for some reason. I should’ve just ordered a pizza. Pretty stupid of me to actually leave home. And without an umbrella at that.”

Another beautiful laugh echoed between them as the handsome man patted Jack’s back comfortingly. It was a strong movement and Jack’s already slumped posture worsened with each hit.

“I wouldn’t say stupid. Just forgetful.”

“I suppose,” Jack mumbled, his cheeks slightly blushing from embarrassment. “You?”

Shifting his position so he could cross his leg over his knee and lean his elbow on the back of the bench while still shielding them from the onslaught of water, the raven-haired man glanced down at the man sporting his scarf and smiled. “Unlike you, I enjoy the rain. It’s pretty calming to me. I was actually about to walk home when I saw you- Oh! Look! Your bus is here!”

And Jack quickly followed the stranger’s gaze and saw that he was correct. The bus came to a slow halt in front of the men and they both stood up at the same time. The American walked him to the bus doors, still holding the red umbrella over them, and let the young man board before waving goodbye.

“I hope you don’t catch a cold! Remember to bring an umbrella nice time, ya doof!”

Still slightly unsure of what to do, Jack rose his right hand to return the farewell and the bus shut the doors between them and took off down the street once more. He slid his bus pass through the scanner and sat down at the window, his thoughts confused about what just happened. A complete and utter stranger approached him and did something so incredibly generous. He protected him from the rain, comforted him when the thunder hit, and gave a warm scarf when he assumed the Irishman was freezing.

_Wait._

Jack quickly looked down and saw he was still wearing the lovely red scarf around his body and internally groaned, clearly upset that he forgot to return it. Pulling it up to his face again, he nuzzled into it and felt the delicate fabric run across his cheek. It was so comfortable to lean into. It almost felt like a wearable version of a wonderful blanket.

He looked back out the bus window and sighed at the terrible rain, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Jack hoped that the stranger didn’t mind his scarf was accidentally stolen. It wasn’t like he meant to take it.

Jack hadn’t even gotten the man’s name.


	2. Green

Mark looked out his window and at the sky, the sun finally peaking out from grey clouds. The rain had been relentless the last couple days and while he absolutely loved the scarce gloomy days that California had to offer, it was nice to see the warm rays of sunlight dance across the city. People were littering the streets again and cars filled up the roads, busy Los Angeles traffic living up to its horrid reputation. 

The young American leaned back in his seat at his work desk, stretched his limbs, and rested his head on the back of his chair, staring up at the ceiling fan. His eyes followed the racing boards of wood and he sighed. He hadn’t been able to get that Irishman from the bus stop off his mind. 

Without moving his neck, he looked at his desk soberly as he saw papers strewn about with messy handwriting scrawled on their faces. Mark was a writer and he desperately wanted to finish a short story that he was previously working on, but the only thing he had been able to create featured a bashful character with ice blue eyes. Leaning forward again, he picked up his green pen and chewed on it thoughtfully. 

What were the chances of meeting him again? They didn’t know anything about each other, not even their names. Admittedly, Mark had been throwing a few names around in his head, but none really seemed to fit.

_Does he look like a Peter? No, not at all. Maybe a Jerry? A Thomas? Travis?_

The American’s teeth bit down hard on the edge of his writing utensil in frustration. His character had ultimately been nameless, understandably so, and it was thoroughly upsetting that he had to live out interacting with the Irishman through mere words. 

Mark thought the stranger was immensely adorable, images of his soft face burying itself in his red scarf constantly running through his busy mind. The way his bright blue eyes looked so confused but appreciative was humbling and the way his mouth formed sentences was very captivating. He just couldn’t get that stranger out of his mind for the life of him. 

He turned his head again, his brown eyes falling upon the umbrella near his apartment’s front door. Mark couldn’t help but smile as he remembered protecting the Irishman from the rain with it. He knew his scarf was in the other’s possession, but he truly did not mind. In a way, it made him happy that the Irishman had a token of him. 

_Or is that a weird thought…?_

Spinning around a few times, the young writer made up his mind. He pulled himself up off of his leather chair, pulled off an olive peacoat from his wooden coat hanger because of the chilly weather, and stepped outside. He needed to clear his head. For days Mark had stowed himself away trying to write so it was definitely time for some fresh air. He needed to push out the thought of those brilliant blue eyes before it drove him mad. 

__

 

Mark weaved in and out of the people on the sidewalk, the heels of his boots clacking on the pavement. His face was slightly red, the chilly air still a tad cold for the Californian. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was half past two, and he held his Starbucks coffee slightly tighter. He wished that he had brought some warm gloves because his fingers were numb and Mark cursed himself for purchasing an iced coffee instead of a warmer drink. 

As he took his normal route back home, he saw a beautiful figure sitting at the bus stop bench. Mark almost dropped his coffee when he realized who it was.

“Whoa! Hey!” He rushed towards the Irishman who was bundled up in multiple layers of clothing, his feet kicking underneath him. When the young writer finally reached him, he slid in next to him and grinned, probably a little _too_ excitedly. Mark’s heart warmed when he saw his beautiful scarf wrapped around the stranger delicately. 

“Oh!” The man chirped, his blue eyes widening. “Hey, it’s you! I feel like I just had Deja Vu." 

Mark politely but genuinely laughed and patted the Irishman’s back adoringly. He took a quick look over, his heart beating so happily, and took in just how handsome this man truly was. The curve of his collar bones was so precious and the way his short brown hair was slightly tossed around was endearing. A slight pink from the cold laced his normally pale cheeks, and he was slightly slumped forward, trying to conserve as much heat as possible. 

"I’m glad to see you! I never thought I would again. My name is Mark. We never introduced ourselves last time." 

He stuck out his hand, the fingertips a bright, shiny red. Quirking an eyebrow, the stranger smiled at him delicately. The young American watched as he pulled off a pair of green gloves, grabbed his numb hands, and slid them on quickly. 

A ray of sunshine seeped through the light grey clouds, illuminating the Irishman’s gorgeous blue eyes. They both made eye contact and Mark saw that his cheeks had turned an even brighter shade of red. 

"You seem cold." 

"I suppose so." 

"You know, this conversation seems quite familiar." 

The two men laughed at the soft joke after Mark quickly pulled his hands back, slightly embarrassed when he realized they were still in the stranger’s. Using a now gloved finger, the writer pushed his glasses up further on his nose and gave an award winning smile. How lucky was he that he actually got to run into this beautiful man again? 

"I’m Sean but please call me Jack,” he finally greeted, waving his hand around slightly. “You walking home again?" 

_Oh, a Jack. That name seems oddly fitting for him. It's lovely._

As Mark nodded, he crossed his left leg over his right and leaned back into the bench, his elbow leaning on the top. 

This was the exact position that they were in a few days ago, fondly but shyly sneaking glances at each other, and polite but endearing small talk floating between them. The only difference was the lack of Mark’s umbrella and there was warm sunshine peeking out on them today. 

"Yeah, I went to get some coffee because I’ve been stuck in my apartment trying to finish a story I’m writing." 

Jack’s eyes widened slightly as he gave a very interested grin. "For real? What’s it about?" 

"Oh! It’s-” Instantly remembering that it was in fact about the dear Irishman, he froze. 

Mark panicked slightly. How was he was supposed to answer such a question? Maybe I could just be vague… 

But luckily, he saw something that relieved his fumble, his heart calming down slightly. 

“What do you know? The bus is here again." 

Jack looked out at the incoming vehicle and stood up while Mark followed suit. He walked him to the bus doors again, but paused. "Wait!" 

The young American pulled out his familiar green pen and scribbled something on Jack’s bare hands, a small smile on his face. He looked up at the man with brilliant blue eyes and reached up to tighten the scarf around his neck. "Stay warm,” he mumbled. 

The Irishman rubbed the back of his head with a bashful smile, slightly dazed, and waved goodbye. Mark watched him take a seat as the large bus took off down the street. He raised a hand to wave another farewell in case Jack was looking out the window, but he saw he was still wearing the forest green gloves he was given. 

_The writer smiled fondly at them._ It’s okay, he thought. _I wrote down my number. I’m sure he’ll call me if he wants them back._

Taking another sip from his now watered-down iced coffee, he began walking down the street once more, but this time with a little more spring in his step.


	3. Yellow

Jack was nervously fumbling with his fingers. As he sat at the small burger joint on the corner near his house, he checked the oddly-colored clock on the wall, the rim a bright yellow. It felt like he could hear the ticking over the restaurant crowd.  
 _  
7:23. He was thirty-seven minutes too early._

Mark had asked to meet him at this small restaurant for they apparently had some of the best burgers in all of Los Angeles. It was fairly crowded, so he must have been right.

Jack wasn’t sure why, but he was nervously anticipating this night. He was more than happy to meet this beautiful and generous stranger, but it brought him some anxiety-inducing fears. What if the mystery would be gone? What if Mark turned out to be an awful person? Even worse: what if Jack wasn’t what Mark expected?

He was even anxious when he first called Mark.

_“Hello?” A beautiful voice asked on the other end of the line._

_Jack’s heart immediately sped up as he sat with pursed lips, his throat terribly dry. He had expected this to go much, much smoother. Only a few seconds in and he already knew that this was going to be a disaster._

_Still not saying anything, Jack stared at the ceiling, trying to find the right words to say. A simple hello would have definitely sufficed, but there he was as choked up as he ever thought possible._

_“Hello?” Mark called out again. “Jack?”_

_Jack immediately made a noise of surprise in the back of his throat, clearly caught off guard that the writer knew who it was right off the bat._

_It was an astonishing sensation._

_He rolled over in his bed so he could look outside the bedroom window. He looked at the bright sunshine gracing the city’s landscape. Los Angeles was hardly like Ireland but that was perfectly fine with him; The sun was lovely, and it was amazing he was able to see it frequently now._

_“Ah, I can tell it’s you. The man with fairly few words as always.”_

_“Sorry,” Jack had quickly apologized, finally speaking. He ran his left hand through his grey-streaked hair as his right held up the cellphone. “I just never really do this.”_

_“You don’t talk on the phone much?”_

_Rolling back over so he faced away from the sun, he soon closed his eyes, wishing the bed would just suck him into its grasp. He was already embarrassed. He feared that probably came off as a loner._

_“Not particularly.”_

_“Well, how about we change it up then? Would you like to go grab a bite to eat at one of my favorite places on Sunset this Friday?”_

They had texted throughout the week, but this was the first time they were meeting up in person again.

So here Jack was, sitting awkwardly in a booth, far too early for his liking. It was one thing to be ten minutes early, but he was a whole half hour too soon. He wasn’t sure why he had thought it would be a good idea to leave the house so soon, but it clearly was one of his worst.

Sighing as he looked down at the menu, he felt a pang of annoyance. He had memorized the whole thing by now.

“Jack?”

Quickly looking up, he saw Mark with a quirked eyebrow and a deep smile. Jack’s throat tightened as the writer slid in across from him, his attire very fashionable. The man sported a black sweater and scarf, but much to Jack’s surprise, those green gloves.

He chose not to comment on it.

“What are you doing here so early?” He questioned, picking up the menu in front of him. “The freeway wasn’t as busy as I thought it would be so I just got here. I thought that I’d be here alone for a while.”

“Oh,” Jack returned, his left hand touching the box he had brought sitting next to him. “Same.”

“Great minds think alike, hm?”

The two laughed, but Jack did more so at his fake excuse.

The dinner progressed as usual, the two men chatting away as they got to know each other. Jack soaked in every word that Mark had to say, his eyes never leaving those brown ones he had grown enamoured by. He adored the way Mark’s smile would reach his eyes, the warmth radiating off of his charming personality. It wasn’t hard to see how good a man he was, and it was very surprising to see how their humor paired up almost perfectly.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take long. Jack found himself opening up after a few rounds of conversation and jokes. He even made one himself that sent Mark into laughter so loud and deep that people surrounding them turned a few heads in curiosity and annoyance.

They ate their burgers, laughing at each other when one would spill food or when they would almost knock over their drinks. Jack realized this was the most fun he had experienced since moving out to Los Angeles by himself.

“So, Jackaboy, tell me what a young Irishman such as yourself is doing out here in this big city,” Mark pestered as he swirled his drink with the plastic straw. Jack noticed that it had slight teeth marks at the top. Mark must chew on his straws.

“I came out here for school,” he responded, taking another fry into his mouth. “I wanted to travel abroad.”

“Really now? What are you studying?”

The two continued their conversation about how Jack was studying English and desired to become a professor once he finished, while Mark was studying both English and creative writing. Jack was surprised to remember that the man in front of him was actually working on a story.

“You never told me at the bus stop last time,” Jack reminded. “I asked you what your story was about.”

“Oh, it’s just a short story, nothing special,” he mused, his eyes shifting away, but his bright smile seemed to have covered it up. After a few moments of what looked like concentrated thinking, Mark finally grinned and huffed in a breath. “It’s just about two guys… Who met at a bus stop.”

Something inside Jack sparked. Almost immediately, a wide grin broke out, and he let out a hearty laugh.

“Really?”

“Hey! Don’t make fun of me!”

“I’m not,” Jack fussed. “I think it’s cute.”

“A cute story about a cute man, I suppose.”

Before the younger of the two could process what he had said, Mark stood up from their table, another brilliant grin on his face. He stretched out a hand, the gloves long put away in his pockets so he could eat dinner properly.

“Want to head out? I got some Netflix if you’d like to join me for a little while.”

Jack followed suit, his eyes weary of the outstretched hand. He debated on taking it but the moment he moved to get up, Mark had instead thrown his arm around his shoulders. They walked out of the restaurant, the night sky suddenly surrounding them.

Looking up, Jack looked all around, the night air filling his lungs happily. It was a cooling sensation as he sunk into Mark’s friendly grasp. It was a shame there was too much light pollution in Los Angeles to see any of the stars that normally hung above.

“What’s that you’re holding?”

Quickly remembering what the box was for, he paused their trek back to their respective cars. Jack held the box out with a shy smile, his head lowered slightly in embarrassment.

“Kind of dorky, but…”

Mark opened the gift, the pale yellow box pulling apart. An unreadable expression spread across his face, and Jack’s heart sank slightly. The writer pulled out his red scarf, the familiar fabric warm in his hands.

“What’s this for?”

“Well, it’s yours isn’t it?”

To his surprise, Mark stepped closer between them and wrapped the scarf around Jack’s neck, just like he had during their very first encounter. The scarf laced around him delicately, each circle around was slow and careful. His eyes never left Mark’s.

The older of the two adjusted it so the two ends were in each of his hands, his eyes solidly staring into Jack’s.

“You didn’t need to wrap it up like a gift for our date or anything, you know,” Mark whispered. “And this isn’t my scarf anymore. It’s yours, Jack.”

Jack’s fingers instinctively went to touch the scarf again, but he froze when he realized the words that had just run through his ears.

_“Date?”_

“Isn’t this what it was?”

“I wasn’t sure, I thought you were just being nice…”

Mark’s hands pulled Jack closer with the two ends he was still holding. The Irishman fumbled slightly, but managed to step further, their bodies almost touching.

“I asked you on a date, you doof,” he said, his brown eyes amused behind thick glasses. “I hope you wouldn’t have said no if you knew what I meant when I asked you to meet me.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Jack whispered, looking away, his cheeks flushed with pure embarrassment at his misunderstanding. “I admit I thought you just wanted your scarf back.”

“It’s yours,” Mark repeated, pulling his hands from the scarf and instead grabbing the younger man’s in his own, Jack feeling a gloved thumb run over his knuckles. He must have slipped back them on when they walked outside. “I want you to keep it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely sure,” he muttered before giving the hands he held a slight squeeze. “It’s a token of our first meeting. And now, our first of _hopefully_ many dates, Sean McLoughlin. Now come, it’s Netflix time.”

Honestly, he wanted to come up with something absolutely witty or anything that could resemble a good comeback, but all he could do was smile with burning cheeks as Mark tossed the box into the trash and grabbed his hand again to lead them to the parking lot.

Jack could barely hear the address being repeated to him for the only things on his mind included the rapid heartbeat that was terribly loud in his ears and the fingers happily intertwined with his.


End file.
